CHAPTER FIVE

THE DURMSTRANG DELEGATION had gotten off their carriage in a perfect queue. They had all gathered promptly, and I saw a visage of hard brown uniforms, marked with a single small red and gold emblem across each of their chests. Flashes of mundane, glimpses of the strange in each flicker.

I stood near the entrance into the castle, and with Madame Maxime's giant form towering behind, crowded by Professors Fabien, Basil, and the Ilvermorny Professor, Caldwell Faustus, I could not make out precisely the foreign witches' and wizards' faces. Their forms, crowded around each other, looked distinguishable, regardless of the same aura about all of them.

Tall and strong, the Durmstrangs were seemingly built of iron and wood—just like their ship had appeared to be. Their bronze, sand, and distinguishing fair skins seemed exuberant against their bleak uniforms. They stood wide, hands tied behind their backs, feet apart, as though they were ready for an attack at all times.

I inched upwards, putting weight on my toes for a better view as curiosity seeped into me like poison, rendering my rationality dormant. There were eight of the students, four witches and four wizards. Before I could make out faces, the lean figure of the Durmstrang headmaster moved up front.

Igor Karkaroff, was a muscular wizard, his age and stealth evident on the grim lines of his face. Having heard of him often, his presence was daunting, intimidating—even from where I stood. He seemed to call every bit of the attention for himself, trapping it in his shoulder length dark sleek hair, and his thick moustache. He was the kind of headmaster that gave rise to circulated rumors vicious each time they were heard, striking fear in hearts of those who had never even seen him.

Two more figures, dressed differently, though in the same bleak brown colors, stood on either side of Headmaster Igor Karkaroff, as the former greeted Madame Maxime before he acknowledged the Ilvermorny professor.

These were Durmstrang professors, and though they were not in robes and were clad in tight leather pants with a deep brown cloak thrown over their shoulders, their presence carried the same professorly wise aura that seemed to demand respect regardless of their lanky forms compared to their rigorous students.

Suddenly, Bridgette grabbed my elbow tightly, leaning into my ear.

"Oh mon Dieu, it's that guy from the Bulgarian National Quidditch team." She let out, her tone lined with the intense intrigue that I felt.

I strained for a better view, and as if sensing my struggle, Madame Maxime moved a little to the side in order to converse with the ecstatic Caldwell Faustus—who seemed to have broken his neck at an odd angle for a better view of the Madame entirely.

Upon her movement, I made out the face of the Durmstrang student I had seen multiple times in the lumière un journal—most recently, during the Quidditch world cup final.

I exhaled slowly at the sight. Viktor Krum, seeker to the Bulgarian National Quidditch team, was bigger in person—burly this close. His face was that of stone, features unmoving, lips stern. His skin was the color of sand on the banks of the Seine, and his eyes were dark orbs fixed ahead, looking at nothing in particular. With his muscular form, he stood like a statue resurrected from the depths of the earth—waiting to be blown life into.

"Yeah, that is definitely Viktor Krum," Elias joined my other side, dropping his velvet voice to a whisper.

"Wasn't he just at the Triwizard tournament at Hogwarts too?" Bridgette asked again, her eyes pinned on the mysterious yet infamous figure. "You'd think he'd give it a rest after the disastrous world cup final last year." 

The flashes of the Quidditch world cup final flipped through my brain, pressing up against my memory. The game hadn't been disastrous at all. It had been a labor of valor—the likes of which I hadn't ever seen before. Truth be told, I hadn't actually seen it, just heard it in excessive detail over the wireless, through the commentary of a very indulged French journaliste, who had been more concerned with how the Irish guys looked mounted on their brooms than their mid match intentions. The Irish had won, much to her excitement, but Viktor Krum had caught the golden snitch and ended the match on his terms. I thought, secretly, that that was the opposite of disastrous. 

"Oui," Elias hummed, "Drôle, the papers made him look like a stick."

"That is probably because they photographed him on a broom miles away from the camera," Maximillian joined in, his voice also a whisper. "He doesn't like being up front in the camera's face, doesn't give interviews and such too."

"Et alors? He's afraid he does not have any good angles?" Bridgette scoffed, "Look at him. If there is anyone who knows they have good angles, its him."

"I'm sure it isn't the angles that concern him, Bridgette," Elias rolled his eyes. "The guy knows he has skill, he likes to keep to himself, maybe that's all."

"Keep to himself?" Gabriel Chevrolet snickered, approaching our huddle with Jean Dubois at his side. "Quidditch players do everything but keep to themselves, or do you all forget Francois Moreau?"

I sighed and shook my head at Chevrolet's comparison. Francois Moreau was the present seeker to the French National Quidditch team, along with being a notorious Casanova with his business flaunting the gossip section of lumière un journal editions every week.

"Chevrolet, please," I started, narrowing my eyes at him. "This is way too early for Moreau comparisons."

"Je dis ça comme ça," He shrugged nonchalantly, "Don't go on his looks and judge him beforehand, lest he disappoints you."

My brows furrowed. "Oh s'il vous plait, no one is going on anyone's looks."

"Alright everyone," Bridgette nudged me slightly, drawing my attention to the approaching professors. "Let us dispel this meeting now, shall we?"

As we all parted, Ilvermorny professor Caldwell Faustus, Madame Maxime and Durmstrang headmaster Igor Karkaroff, made their way past us to be in the lead, and we all formed a lateral queue behind them.

The two Durmstrang professors said something in Bulgarian, a call for attention as the students let out a curt reply and stomped their feet, falling into lateral queues like us. I tried not to look back, though the Durmstrang presence behind us felt like a suction in the atmosphere, a black hole throbbing and pulsing-heavy in its density.

The Ilvermorny professor beckoned the delegations to commence, as he weeded his way inside the castle, with all of us following in neat rows behind.

The Ilvermorny castle interior was just as dark as its exterior. The tapestry clad walls were of a dark stone, and the granite floors seemed to shine a silvery hue, reflective of the glow of the heavy mist that hung low outside. Our feet clicked on the floors, a low synchronized hum that fell only slightly out of order.

Having been schooled on our presentation in the course of our journey, Professor Basil had been much strict on promptness, and his words echoed still in the back of my head as I resisted the urge to observe my foreign surroundings and lag behind. Against the dreary colors of the castle, our Beauxbatons uniforms glowed a softer blue.

The hallways were vast, where Beauxbatons Academy hallways were adorned with intricate wall side tables and delicate side furniture over lush carpets, Ilvermorny hallways were empty. Save for tapestries that bore the American school's houses and symbols, and portraits of a variety of people, the corridors glinted in emptiness, yet in a way that was surreal.

I felt an overwhelming urge to touch the cold walls and feel the iciness seep into the whorls of my skin. I had been let in, regardless of the mark of the deathly hallows etched in to my skin, Ilvermorny castle had still let me in. Had it been on purpose, or was it a mere mistake?

"They are here," A hushed whisper clearly sounded, and I turned to the American voice coming from a hanging portrait of a tall old man in blue robes as he turned to converse with a lady in a different portrait.

They fell behind as we walked, but our presence stirred most every portrait that hung on the corridor walls in our vicinity as whispers and declarations arose from many of them.

"Quite foreign, are they not?"

"Oh, just look at them!"

"Those two Beauxbatons ladies sure are pretty."

"And their boys too! I imagined them to be quite lanky though, or perhaps to have a bit of femme in their ways."

I struggled to remain focused, keeping my eyes ahead as everyone quickened their pace. The Ilvermorny professor seemed to be taking larger strides every second, unbothered by the comments being passed around by the wizards and witches adoring his walls. The fire lit lantern in his hand slightly shook—whether from anxiety or excitement, I couldn't tell.

"Can't believe they have so many foreign girls partaking in the Huntlock games this time! In my time, it was the men who made the team."

"Well, I for one, am amazed the Durmstrang Institute even trains girls in sports too. I wonder why you never hear about them."

"Do you think this year's Huntlock will go downhill? I mean, look at the liberties they have taken this year!"

"It used to be better in my time, I don't know what happened."

I reeled in my frustration, fingers itching to shut them all up in one gesture—though I was sure it might burn them all in that same gesture too. But for once, I don't suppose I would mind the uncontrollable slip in my power. If all Americans were like this, my time here would resemble tightrope walking over a lake of lava, and I would rather have others in that spot—not myself.

Soon, we arrived at the entrance of the Grand Hall. Two large wooden doors swayed slowly open as Caldwell Faustus gestured with his wand, a gentle creak sounding at the edges that seemed to melt into the atmosphere. A piercing blanket of yellow fire light drenched us as the doors fully opened, revealing the Hall. Inside, five long rows at fixed distances, engaged what seemed like hundreds of students adorned in dark robes. I could make out different colored badges pinned to their robes, the only indication of their distinguishing houses.

Past the rows and further up ahead, stood a podium, behind which sat the Ilvermorny castle teaching staff—their expressions and attires fixated in stoicism and neutral perfection.

The students gazed at us as we stood, their initial hum of chatter silencing. The professor Caldwell Faustus took a few steps and placed himself at the center of the entrance, and then, his thin frame beheld a deep voice that both announced our presence, and startled us to our core.

"For partaking in the Huntlock tournaments, I, Caldwell Faustus, present the delegation of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and the delegation of The Durmstrang Institute, as guests and competitors for our traditional games here at Ilvermorny."

A round of applause ensued from the students, as Caldwell Faustus stepped aside to gesture to us to pass.

Madame Maxime started walking, her giant form promenading inside as Professors Fabien and Basil followed, and then we. The applause quietened, as curious eyes seeped over all our forms. I felt the inspection vividly, thousands of irises taking in my presence, lingering over every aspect of me that perhaps I myself hadn't paid much heed to. I kept my obsidian eyes pinned forwards, reaching for the feel of my friends at my side—a vain attempt to bask in assurance.

Soon the eyes drifted off of us and flitted behind, and I knew they had found a far more interesting specimen in the Durmstrangs. For a moment, I was glad for the latter's black hole heavy presence. If it kept scrutiny off of me, I was fine with anything.

Viktor Krum's famous name circulated amongst the seated Ilvermorny students, their accents flat as they hushed over the name to each other as though it was a secret-but the bearer of it stood in plain sight. More things were whispered, the word Beauxbatons travelling from tongue to tongue. It sounded strange coming from their English tongues, it didn't sound like the school I had spent the last seven years of my life in. It seemed like it had become something else entirely, when they said it like that.

Up ahead, The Ilvermorny Headmaster, Agilbert Fontaine, approached the podium-the same glint in his amber eyes that he had exhibited in his chocolate frog card. He seemed to be wearing the exact same robes too. A knowing flare drenched his presence, an air of age old wisdom that was humble and modest-a stark contrast to Madame Maxime's own projections.

"Welcome, Beauxbatons and Durmstrangs. Ilvermorny, and all those within it, teachers and students alike, are honored to have you."

His voice boomed over the entirety of the Grand Hall, his English was pristine and sleek, much like Caldwell Faustus's, but thicker and rounder—or perhaps, that was just his voice. English, being as foreign to my tongue as Ilvermorny was to my life, seemed a vague concept in my two years of being taught the language at Beauxbatons. Now, here, I feared it would feel like the most compelling thing in the world.

"The students will take a seat over to the left," The Headmaster continued, a wand gesturing to the far left, where now a shorter row of table seating appeared, having not been there before.

"The heads, Igor Karkaroff, and my dear Madame Maxime-along with the professors, please, join us."

Cushioned chairs appeared behind the podium next to the already seated Ilvermorny staff, as the summoned made their way gingerly to sit down.

"My gladness, cannot be put into words," Agilbert Fontaine spoke up, his eyes scouring his students. "To have such support and participation for a small tradition such as this one, to take time out of schedules to consider one another across countries, remains the most dearest notion of being mortal. I would like to thank the heads, Igor Karkaroff, and Madame Olympe Maxime, for humbling us by being here today."

Applause reared throughout the Ilvermorny students as their headmaster paused. I clapped too, as I made to sit on the row, a mahogany long table, magically brought for us. Bridgette slid in beside me, and Elias sat at my left, with Maximillian, Gabriel and Jean, each sitting right across us and next to each other.

The Durmstrang students filed in too, sliding in next to each other at a distance from us. Once or twice, I heard them speak, curt voices in thick Bulgarian as they referred to each other. Though their expressions remained as stoic as they had been outside. Their language was like them, firm and intimidating, and it made me uneasy to come up with a conclusion like that after such a brief spell of just watching them.

Rationality still spinning on its head inside me, I glanced over to them, eyes finding the seated form of Viktor Krum. The muscles in his arms bulged through his uniform sleeve as he folded them, his shoulders broader than they had been before, in this seated position. His eyes were fixed on the table surface, lost somewhere, but intent—as though everything happening around him right now held no significance compared to his mind's affairs.

A strange curiosity befell me, and I wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was seeing. I wanted to know what he was like.

Beside the famous seeker, sat a bronze skinned Durmstrang, with messy dark hair that fell over his forehead into his eyes. With thick lips firm and set in place, he showed about the same level of interest in what Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine had to say as Viktor Krum.

I glanced at Bridgette, only to catch her staring at the bronze skinned Durmstrang too-though her look carried less scrutiny than mine had, and an other sense of curiosity entirely.

She caught me watching and shook her head, bringing herself out of her trance.

Agilbert Fontaine summoned first Madame Maxime to the podium, for her to say a few words, Words which she spent praising the Ilvermorny headmaster, who's name I had never had pass through her lips in a manner of way other than that of stoic acknowledgement, in all of my years at Beauxbatons. Madame Maxime then went on to praise the Huntlock legacy, emphasizing on how it was important to revert legacies that are destructive, only to make new ones that are not. I felt as though I had heard the same speech from her lips before, all of what Madame Maxime had to say was reflective—like ripples in clear water, her words started and ended just as her students at Beauxbatons would expect, having known her more than anyone else here.

Igor Karkaroff leapt to the stage after her, continuing the tradition of praising first the establishment hosting you. He talked about his students' strength, and how strength in general was woven into magic like wizards never usually suspect. Listening to him, I tilted my head in thought. Magic was strength, yet Karkaroff seemed to hold those two things separately. I had an overwhelming urge to challenge him, to tell him that his mortal strength was no match for immortal magic, to tell him that he was foolish for believing the way he did.

Madame Maxime watched him give his speech, her lips tightly pursed. I could tell she disagreed as well, though she and I were not the same, it was in part she, who had made me the way I am at present.

Agilbert Fontaine took the podium again, this time to deliver a conclusive statement before he dismissed the students. His tone took a curt edge as he slipped into responsibility, having had enough of formalities.

"Students of Ilvermorny," He started, addressing his Ilvermorny wizards and witches, "Selections are still yet to be made amongst you. Those of you worthy will be chosen to partake in the Huntlock games against the Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons students. Professor Stralis has given me a meticulously curated list. Student names called, are to approach and line up ahead."

The headmaster gestured vaguely with a thick hand to an empty spot near where we were seated, before he started calling out names. One by one, as the students were called, applause sounded and they lifted themselves off their seats at their rows and stood where they were directed to. Congratulations passed like perfumed kisses in the air, as boys selected high-fived their friends, a grin plastered on their clear faces.

Ilvermorny chose five wizards and a single witch, a striking ginger headed girl called Olivia Keystone. She was peculiar, in the way that she stood confidently, with an unorthodox silver necklace full of small dangling charms around her neck over her dark uniform robes, two stark pearl studs in her ears and her ginger hair unrulily tucked into a messy ponytail. She seemed about two years younger than me, a year five student at Ilvermorny while the wizards she was chosen alongside were all six years.

"And so Ilvermorny has chosen its champions," Agilbert Fontaine announced once the applause had softened, silencing it entirely.

Strange how Ilvermorny considered only a single female student a champion, when it had given four male students the same title.

"Ça doit être une farce," I whispered to Bridgette, "They must even those odds!"

"Well," Bridgette shrugged, glancing at the Durmstrangs, the four witches and wizards fixed in their places, before looking back to the Ilvermorny champions, "It's a foreign country, I suppose."

I looked at our own team, with six of us, two witches and four wizards, our own odds had already been evened, considering Elias, Maximillian, Gabriel and Jean Dubois had no chance of winning without Bridgette and I.

Perhaps there was more to Olivia Keystone than her exterior offered, though I knew we will just have to wait and see.

The rest of the students gathered in the Grand Hall were dismissed, and we were all made to wait. Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine pressed his lips together for the chaos of student departure to silence, as queues were directed promptly out of the hall by crimson and cream sash wearing prefects—another concept entirely foreign to my knowledge and life at Beauxbatons.

The Grand Hall soon plunged into a directed silence, and Madame Maxime motioned towards us. Upon her signal, we got off the bench and formed ourselves in a clean lateral queue in front of the Headmaster Agilbert Fontaine, his glinting amber eyes inspecting us with interest. A Durmstrang professor motioned to his students, and they too formed a lateral queue behind us. Straining my eyes to catch a glimpse, I caught the sight of Victor Krum's firm expression again before he disappeared behind us. I wondered briefly if he had noticed me.

But it seem implausible, considering his eyes seem to be of stone, and his senses held hostage by the politics of some other world entirely.

The Ilvermorny champions lined themselves ahead of us, a simple feat that I found, without intentionally meaning to, severely irritating.

"I have no doubt these champions of yours will do your names proud," Agilbert Fontaine mused, his voice suddenly audible as I realized he had been speaking. His words were partially directed to us, and partially to Madame Maxime and Igor Karkaroff.

"Now, students," He turned fully to address all of us. "The Huntlock games start in about two weeks from now. As you may already know, the duration of these games is no more than a single week, by the end of which, we should have our winning school."

"Also, as you might have heard by now, Hogwarts is also to be joining our Huntlock games this year, their delegation arrives tomorrow."

I looked up, curiosity stirring inside of me. I would like to see this Harry Potter, I would like to hear him speak of the chaos that I hear secondhand from the papers. And I shall like to be in the presence of Albus Dumbledore, perhaps the only powerful wizard remaining who truly knew my great uncle. Who was Dumbledore really? I was starting to believe he was a mere pawn that evil wizards profited off of, and in a strange way, he let them. First Grindelwald, then Voldemort. How many more evil wizards would he mistakenly fashion before he realized unravelling them would be impossible?

But he had managed to unravel my great uncle. He had managed to confine him to Nurmengard and leave him for the dead.

"The two weeks before the games, will be spent in training and polishing your expertise. To bring the true spirit of the reverting legacy of the Huntlock, we will hold mix trainings-students from all four schools will train together, as comrades in arms, in true solidarity."

Comrades in arms? I stilled. Was not the purpose to have a single winning school? Trainings for past Huntlocks had never been mixed, according to the recent research I had done before leaving Beauxbatons. Why would Agilbert Fontaine decide to start now?

"You shall aid each other, better the skills of each other, and when the time comes, you will be put up against each other in the Huntlock," The headmaster spoke firmly, before his tone took on a lighter note. "On the eve of the Huntlock games, a night before they are due to start, we will host a celebration to welcome winter. An event Ilvermorny takes much pride in. Complete with celestial celebrations and all our winter welcoming traditions, the night will be the perfect start to the Huntlock games. The Durmstrangs and Beauxbatons students have been assigned dorms in the east wing of the castle, separate from the Ilvermorny student dorms. In between trainings, you are all advised to attend ongoing lessons in the castle, after referring with your headmasters and professors about your current academic affiliations, we will have a schedule ready for each of you by tomorrow."

"In conclusion, I would like to welcome you all once again to Ilvermorny. While the environment here will differ from what most of you are used to, I guarantee a wonderful time. The Huntlock games are supposed to enlighten you, help you discover your true potential-all in the way to the true goal. The unwanted- or the aberrant, as we here in America refer to them, will be watching us. They have all been invited to Ilvermorny, but as they prefer to stay in the shadows, some might drop by your trainings to inspect the champions vying for their favor. You are all advised to regard them with respect should you stumble upon them, other than that, they will not interrupt anything you set out to do. Thank you for being patient. You are all dismissed."

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A/N:
rule setting done! so excited to bring your o.g harry potter favs in the story too. I mean, keep an eye out for them? <3